


i'm never gonna fall (but i'm never hard to catch)

by thicclouis



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Anal Sex, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Idk that's it, M/M, footie!louis, photographer!harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-06
Updated: 2015-09-06
Packaged: 2018-04-19 09:31:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4741373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thicclouis/pseuds/thicclouis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"When Harry starts bringing him coffee and a croissant every morning after his 7 am Russian Lit class, Louis knows he should say something. Should set things straight with Harry, remind him that it's about release, that it's physical. That Louis isn't the type of man that Harry needs or should even want in his life. But maybe he isn't so willing to set things straight with himself, either. Because all of this is starting to feel like something entirely different than what the two of them had three months ago. So, all things considered, it's not all that surprising when Harry calls him, drunk and crying, on a Tuesday night."</p><p>Or, the one where Harry and Louis hook up every once in a while and it's all completely casual. Until it's not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i'm never gonna fall (but i'm never hard to catch)

"Fuck." Louis moans and lets his teeth sink into Harry's neck as he comes, his hands gripping the other man's hips as they both ride out their high. Harry leans back against Louis after they've both finished, his breath ragged and his skin hot against Louis' own. He's the little spoon, Louis guesses, but he probably won't ever know for sure. Louis is softening, still inside Harry, so he eases the other man off his dick, hands gently guiding Harry's hips. "You good, Horton?"

"Fuck off, Louis." Harry says, running a hand through his hair. It's getting long. Louis likes it, but he isn't going to say anything. He laughs instead.

"I'm messing with you, Harry." Harry nods and stands, stretching. He's beautiful, long and lithe with the legs of a model and the shoulders of a quarterback. A catch, in other words. Louis almost regrets it, knowing that someday Harry's gonna have a man, a real lover, and their stolen nights and quickies in between classes will come to an end. Louis watches, limbs loose and sprawled across his narrow dorm bed, as Harry dresses, pulling on a pair of unreasonably tight jeans. Harry grabs up his t-shirt from the floor and sniffs it.

"Shit. This is rank. I can't—can I borrow a shirt, maybe?"

"Yeah. Yeah, of course." Louis shoots up and rifles through his drawer for a moment before coming up with a soft, black t-shirt with a slight scoop neck. It's big on him. It'll be tight on Harry. "Something like this ok? I don't want to give you something too recognizable. Don't want to send the wrong message, you know?"

"That's fine. Perfect." Harry grabs it and their hands brush briefly before they both pull back. Louis jams his hands in his pocket, rocking on his heels as Harry finishes dressing before him. Louis' still shirtless. They aren't too comfortable with each other, not personally, but they know each other's bodies. Louis doesn't know for sure how long this has been happening. Seems like a while. They were introduced through a mutual friend, Louis' roommate Zayn Malik, about a year before. They didn't hit it off, truth be told. But they've somehow ended up alone with each other countless times, fucking quickly and urgently during any small window of time the two of them share. It just kind of happened. But it's fine. It's good.

"I'm gonna head out, Louis. Thanks for the orgasm." Harry nods at Louis, a small smile playing across his lips as he starts towards the door.

"Any time. When can we…?" Louis' voice trails off as Harry pauses in the doorway, glancing back at him.

"Soon. Liam's out of town next weekend, if that works?"

"Yeah, of course. I'll see you around, then." Louis says, giving Harry a smile and a quick wave.

"Yeah. Say 'hey' to Zayn when he gets back, alright?"

Louis just nods and Harry heads out, waving at Louis over his shoulder. The sex is fine. Great, even. It's the goodbyes that are the weird part. What do you say to the guy whose asshole you just came in but who you hardly ever spare a "hello" for when you pass him on the quad? It's weird. The whole thing is weird. They aren't friends with benefits, because they aren't friends. But Harry isn't quite Louis' booty call, either. It's just…it's just weird.

Zayn doesn't know. Or he does and doesn't let on, which is maybe more likely. Louis liked that about Zayn right away: he minds his own business and doesn't get involved, which is a good thing in a roommate. He knows Harry because they both spend a lot of time in the building that houses the arts department. Zayn is majoring in visual arts with a focus on cartooning and animation, and Harry is majoring in photography. They took a class together freshman year (Louis has no idea what it was) and they still talk. They get on well.

Nobody talks about Harry and Louis, mainly because there isn't much to talk about. No romantic feelings or even platonic ones. Just sexual attraction and a mutual willingness to provide ample orgasms. So it works out well for both of them. And it will continue to do so, as long as Louis doesn't fuck it all up with feelings or something equally ludicrous, which he has a tendency to do. Whenever anything goes well for Louis, his first instinct is to fuck it up. But not this time. Louis Tomlinson is never going to fall for Harry Styles.  
……

 

Everything is fine until the day Harry shows up at one of Louis' football games with a blond twink in tow. Zayn's there too (he always is) and Liam, Harry's roommate. But Harry's there. Harry doesn't give a shit about football, doesn't have any friends on the team. He's not that type. Liam is (they're polar opposites, if Louis' telling the truth), but not Harry.

He first notices Harry when Zayn catches Louis' eye during warmups and nods at him, giving him a thumbs up. Louis smiles back, waving, before seeing Harry on Zayn's left side, arm around a thin blond guy in a dumb bro tank. And Louis isn't jealous, is the thing. Harry's free to date who he likes, and anyone would be lucky to have him: he's gorgeous, even with the four nipples and inability to maneuver his way around a dorm room (he isn't that big, for fuck's sake. Louis doesn't get it). So it's all good, in that sense. Louis dates sometimes as well, and he's seen Harry out with other guys before. It doesn't bother him. But Harry and Louis fucked last night. Zayn spent the night with some girl he picked up at a party and Louis and Harry did what they always do when Zayn (or Liam) is off doing his own thing. Louis' sheets smell like Harry and this morning he woke up, bum aching, to find one of Harry's socks rolled up under his bed. And Louis let himself wonder for the first time that morning what it would feel like to wake up next to Harry, his nose buried in a mess of curls and Harry's broad back pressed against his own substantially narrower chest. Louis let himself imagine making tea for Harry and lending him one of his football jerseys to wear out that day, so that Harry's back would read "Tomlinson" and he'd be as good as marked as Louis'.

So it feels wrong to see Harry with that kid, that other guy, laughing into Harry's neck and cuddling into Harry's side as the game starts. 

"Tomlinson!" Louis tears his eyes away from where Harry sits laughing with his new boy toy to meet his coach's eyes.

"You alright?" The man asks, and Louis forces a grin in response, nodding and giving Coach Dickov a thumbs up. He's a good guy, a good coach, and he doesn't tolerate distracted players. Louis' a starter for the first time this year, and he isn't going to fuck it up because his fuckbuddy decided to parade his new boyfriend around at Louis' game.

Louis plays that game hard, keeping his eyes on the ball and on the goal, never looking up into the stands. Especially not looking up towards the fifth row, slightly to the right. Occasionally he can hear the unmistakable sound of Zayn's wolf-whistling and cheering when Louis plays a key role in a play that goes off without a hitch, or when, in the second period, he receives a pass from their team's striker and kicks the ball cleanly into the left hand corner of the goal, right over the goalie's outstretched hands. Louis doesn't chance a glance at the crowd, but he does look towards the bench, where his teammates are on their feet cheering for him. Louis catches Coach Dickov's eye and the man grins at him with approval. Louis likes the feeling. He likes starting, he likes scoring, he likes the sound of cheering engulfing him, people on all sides giving their approval. But then, he supposes it's different for an away game. This season, he aims to find out.  
……  
"Zay, why was Harry Styles at the game?" Louis asks that night. He's getting ready for bed, washing his face in their tiny bathroom sink, naked, arse out for all the world to see. Or Zayn, rather, and it's nothing he hasn't seen a hundred times before. Zayn's lounging in his bed reading a comic book when Louis speaks. He doesn't even look up.

"His mate, Niall, wanted to come. He's a big football fan, at all the games, you know. Good guy. We met for the first time today." Zayn says. "Why?"

Louis would like to claim he doesn't relax visibly the moment the word "mate" comes out of Zayn's mouth, but that wouldn't be entirely true. "No reason. I've just never noticed him at a game before. Not really his thing, innit?"

"True. Not really mine, either." Zayn says, meeting Louis' eyes in the mirror with a pointed look.

Louis turns around and smiles at him. "No, not really. But you love me too much to stay away, yeah?"

"Mmhm." Zayn lets out a small murmur of assent and goes back to reading. That's the closest thing Louis ever gets to outright affection with Zayn, just about. Except when they're high. Zayn's all smiles as soon as they've lit up, and it's happy days until they've both come down. But other than that, Zayn isn't one to profess his love for his mates. It's there, though. Louis knows Zayn well enough to be sure of that.

"He had a good time, you know. Harry." Zayn says as Louis comes out of the bathroom and begins to rifle around in his drawer for a pair of boxers. "He got really into it. Went crazy when you scored."

"Really?" Louis stills, a pair of boxers clutched in his hand.

"Yeah. It was surprising, actually. I didn't think he'd like it like he did." Zayn says, nodding to himself. His eyelids are half closed and he lets the comic book drop from his hand. "You played well, Lou."

Louis looks at Zayn with a confused grin. The whole not being one for displays of affection thing, and that. "Thanks, mate." Zayn nods and smiles softly, already almost asleep. "Night, Zayn. Love you, bro."

Zayn murmurs something (it's not "love you, too," because Zayn doesn't do that. So that's out of the question) and lets his eyes close. He's still fully dressed, shoes on, all of that.

"Fucking little kid, can't take care of himself." Louis mutters fondly, voice soft. He doesn't want to wake Zayn up. Zayn doesn't get as much sleep as he should. Louis pads over and unlaces Zayn's shoes, tugging them off gently before pulling the blanket over the man's sleeping form. He doesn't tuck Zayn in, because that would be idiotic and Louis isn't that. He doesn't…wouldn't…anyway.

It's not quite midnight on a Saturday night, but Louis finds himself struggling to stay awake. Footie games and emotionally charged exchanges with his best friend/roommate tend to wear him out. Before falling asleep he checks his phone, sending off a tweet ("Siiiiick game today!! Gonna be a great season :)") to his two hundred-odd followers and opening the Facebook app to find two messages from Harry (they've never exchanged numbers. It's an unspoken thing, but Louis supposes it's to ensure everything is kept at a comfortable distance. Which is a good thing). 

(19:58) You played really well today. –H xx  
(20:01) Niall and Liam said you were good, at least. I don't know that much about football. –H xxx

Louis' brow creases in confusion. Harry and Louis, they don't…they don't do things like this. Unnecessary communication. Signing off with two—and then three—x's. Louis types out a quick reply (Thanks :) Cool of you to come to the game!) before shutting off his phone and climbing into bed.

And maybe, at some level, he knows that things are about to change. That this is both the beginning of the end and the end of the beginning for him and Harry. For them. Maybe Louis knows all of that. But really, he's tired and can barely think straight, so what does he know?  
……  
Harry comes to some of Louis' games after that, sometimes with Niall, sometimes without. He likes it, is the thing, starts to learn some of the terminology and cheer animatedly whenever their team pulls off a beautiful play. One time Louis passes Harry on the quad, barefoot with a hat pulled over his eyes, reading David Beckham's autobiography. So it isn't about Louis himself when Harry takes an interest in his football career. He's just become a fan of the sport, is all. Which is fine with Louis, of course.

But they've been seeing each other more lately, on account of the football thing. And because when Louis finally does meet Niall after a game, he takes an immediate liking to the overzealous Irishman with a penchant for bro tanks and late nights spent drinking. With multiple friends in common, avoiding Harry on a daily basis becomes a taller order than it used to be.

So Louis isn't altogether surprised when someone—Niall or Liam, most likely—suggests they all go to the carnival in the town near the university. The five of them, that is: Harry, Louis, Liam, Zayn, and Niall. They all get along to varying degrees, even if Zayn does give Louis a raised eyebrow and a pointed look when the man immediately agrees to the outing. Which is stupid, obviously. Louis likes doing things with his mates, is all. Just because his roommate leads a bitter life of solitude doesn't mean he has to. But everyone agrees with varying levels of enthusiasm, even Zayn, who shrugs half-heartedly, saying "Why not? Louis'd probably drag me along either way."

He's being dramatic, of course. Zayn doesn't abhor the company of others as much as he likes to pretend he does. He loves Louis, for one thing, and Harry, too, probably. He and Liam have always gotten along and Niall brings out a soft side in Zayn that Louis barely knew existed (and fuck it, he's maybe just a little jealous of the fact that Niall can waltz into both of their lives and be on the receiving end of Zayn's affectionate cheek kisses and hugs in a matter of weeks. But it's fine, really).

So Louis finds himself with four other lads at a carnival intended for kids half their age on a crisp November evening. He's wondering why the fuck any town would have a carnival in November—in celebration of American Thanksgiving, maybe?—when Harry offers up his jacket.

"What?" Louis asks, voice sharper than he intended. He's confused, is all, because Harry and Louis don't really do things like that. The whole "marking of territory" thing.

Harry blushes in the way he does when he's caught doing something off (Louis noticed the same blush gracing his cheeks when he caught Harry reading the Beckham autobiography). "You looked cold, is all, because you're a fucking idiot who wears a t-shirt outside in November. I'm wearing a jumper like a normal person—" Louis snorts and looks Harry up and down—"for god's sake, Louis, take the damn jacket. You're making it weird."

"You're weird." Louis says childishly before taking the jacket from Harry's outstretched hand. It's a worn denim thing with wool lining the collar. Harry looks good in it, though. It's a little big on Louis, but it's warm and smells like Tom Ford cologne. Which isn't a big deal, not really, but Harry smells nice. It's not a weird thing for Louis to think, really. Everyone notices how another person smells, whether or not you've fucked that person in just about every position and circumstance known to man.

Zayn's a few paces ahead with Liam and Niall, but Louis' sure he's been taking careful note of the whole exchange when he notices an amused smile on the man's lips. Louis catches his eye and sticks his tongue out at him (in a manly way, obviously). Zayn just rolls his eyes and shakes his head slowly. Louis doesn't get it, but Zayn's always a few steps ahead of everyone else. Louis wonders if it gets tiring to be such a fucking know-it-all all the time. Louis' a smart guy—he likes to think so, anyway—but being with Zayn always makes him feel like the other man is already laughing at a joke Louis won't hear for another century or so. It's disconcerting and not altogether welcome when Louis is fighting the urge to bury his nose in his fuckbuddy's jacket.

"Fuck you." Louis mutters under his breath.

"What?" Harry asks at his side. Louis shakes his head.

"Nothing. Not you."

"You do, though." Harry says, laughing.

"I do what?" Louis asks, looking up at the man.

"Fuck me." Harry's giggling like a child at this point. He is a child, actually. He's ten months younger than Louis, as Louis recently found out. Practically an infant.

"You're infantile, Styles." Louis says to illustrate his point, shoving him and rolling his eyes.

"Shut up. You love me." Harry grins, and Louis feels his throat constrict.

"I don't know where you got that information, but you are sadly misinformed." Louis doesn't know when they started to banter like this. A month and a half before, they were practically strangers. Strangers who came in each other's assholes on a regular basis, but strangers in all other senses of the word. Louis knows Harry now. He'd like to say that he'd jump at the chance to go back to the way things were, back to the distance that had kept everything uncomplicated, but that might not be entirely true. Because Harry Styles is interesting, quite frankly. And maybe breaking the unspoken rule about keeping things between them distant and impersonal is the best decision the two of them have ever made. Maybe.

"You have to win me something." Louis tells Harry, voice loud over the sounds of the carnival around them.

"No, I don't. You aren't my boyfriend, Lou." Harry laughs. Louis resists the urge to comment on the jacket he's still wearing, slightly loose in the shoulders. "I don't owe you shit."

"But I want you to win me something." Louis says. He lets his mouth fall open just slightly in a pout. "I want something, Harry."

"Fuck…" Harry mumbles, scrunching his face up. It's cute, Louis thinks. Harry's cute. "You aren't supposed to do that, Louis. It's not…'s not fair."

Louis just smiles at him, angelic. He's used to being small, being dainty and more than a little pretty. He doesn't like it, not really, but he knows how to make it work to his advantage.

"Fine. What do you want, Louis?"

Louis looks around at the games. He wonders briefly what happened to the other three, to Zayn and Liam and Niall. They're fine, though. They're big boys and Louis doesn't need to watch over them like a mother hen. "I want one of the big lions." Louis points to a game, one of those where you have to throw the rings on the bottles. They're impossible. Louis knows that, and Harry does too. Louis watches as the other man's eyes widen.

"Louis, have you ever seen anyone win that game? Doesn't happen, Lou."

"You can do it, Styles." Louis says, grabbing Harry's upper arm (familiarly large. Louis thinks there might still be a trace of a hickey where it meets his shoulder from two days prior) and dragging him towards the game.

Harry hands the man behind the booth a dollar and gets five rings in exchange. He glances at Louis, as if checking to see whether it's worth it. Whether Louis' worth it. So Louis bites his lip in that way he does and touches Harry's shoulder gently. A little bit of contact and a lip bite like that works every time, as Louis' found throughout his many years as a professional gay man. He's been pulling shit like this since he was sixteen, for fuck's sake. He knows what he's doing. 

Harry does too, of course, but it still works. The man sighs and begins throwing the little rings at the bottles. He misses his first three throws. "Your lack of athletic ability seems to translate, doesn't it, Harold?" Louis observes.

"Fuck off. You wanna try, Tomlinson?" Harry turns to Louis, frustration written across his face. Louis nods simply and takes the remaining rings from his hands. Louis tosses one of them up into the air wildly…and makes it. He glances at the ring that's fallen perfectly around the rim of one of the bottles and then back at Harry, smirking. Harry's mouth has fallen open in disbelief.

"What the fuck, Louis?"

"What can I say? I'm an athlete, Harry." Louis flexes subtly before throwing the last ring. He misses, but it's fine. He's won the lion, which he takes from the man behind the booth (a bored uni student who surely doesn't get paid enough to deal with people like Louis and Harry) and presents it to Harry with a triumphant grin.

"I thought you wanted it." Harry says.

"It's stupid for me to keep it, innit?" Louis says, because it is. You win things for other people at carnivals, not for yourself. "You have it. It'll take up your whole dorm room, but at least you'll be reminded of me!"

"You say that like it's a good thing." Harry says, grabbing the lion and throwing it over his shoulder. It's nearly as big as Louis, but then, Harry can manhandle him just as easily. Which is nice, sometimes.

"Don't be grumpy that I showed you up, love." Louis says, shoving Harry playfully. "You should be used to it by now, considering you've slept with me and all."

"Shut up, Louis!" Harry says, blushing. "And that's also so inaccurate it's almost laughable."

Louis knows he's right. Harry's good in bed, is the thing, whatever role he's playing. But Louis' not gonna tell him that. He's not Harry's boyfriend, so it isn't his job to stroke his ego. So instead Louis rolls his eyes and suggests they split a funnel cake.

"What for?" Harry asks, stroking the lion thrown across his shoulder in what looks like a subconscious way. Louis smirks at that but doesn't comment. He has a strange feeling Harry isn't going to get rid of the lion, inconvenient and cheaply made as it is. Louis thinks, for some reason, that he'll keep it in his dorm room, on his bed maybe, but shove it in the too-small closet whenever Louis comes over, merely so Louis won't have anything to hold over him. And Louis would tease Harry for something like that, because he's a little shit with no regard for anyone's feelings, least of all those of the man he fucks on a regular basis but is just now starting to get to know. So Louis can't blame Harry for his hypothetical actions, he really can't. "Louis?"

"What?" Louis snaps, looking into Harry's eyes coolly.

"I asked what you wanted to split a funnel cake for."

"Because, dear Horton, I can't really take the calories at the moment. Footie season's winding down, got to stay in shape on the off season." Louis shrugs and gropes self-consciously at his own stomach, softer than he'd like it to be. "But I'm not gonna go to a carnival and not eat a funnel cake, for fuck's sake. That's ludicrous."

Harry nods. "I see your reasoning, Lewis. Unless you aren't paying, in which case I don't at all see your reasoning."

"I'll pay, you fucking penny pincher." Louis agrees, already dragging Harry towards the funnel cake stand. "You think we should check up on the others?"

"Not really. They're adults, innit?" Harry says.

"True. And we don't want to disrupt the zaniam threesome that's probably occurring at this very moment, so." Louis' words earn an odd look from the man who hands them their funnel cake.

Harry laughs, a genuine one. His belly laugh. Louis likes the sound of it, maybe, but that's merely because he's a big fan of joy in general. Nice guy, Tommo. Anyway. "Zaniam? What the fuck does that mean?"

"Zayn, Niall, Liam." Louis shrugs and takes a bite of the funnel cake, suddenly self-conscious. "It's the best I could come up with in the moment. We don't all have your effortless conversational skills, Styles."

Harry nods in agreement, grabbing a piece of funnel cake from Louis' fingers. Louis would protest, but Harry's punishing himself with the mess of powdered sugar dusting his upper lip. He looks ridiculous, and maybe also a little bit adorable, if Louis' being completely honest with himself. Which he isn't, and which he never is. Because if Louis were to be completely, utterly honest with himself, he'd have to admit that Harry Styles might just be moving out of the realm of no-strings-attached fuckbuddy and into the realm of something else entirely. And Louis' not quite sure he's ready to admit that.  
……  
Things are different after the night the five of them go to the carnival. They all feel like a cohesive group of friends, rather than a bunch of people tied to each other through mutual friends and acquaintances. And Harry and Louis feel different, too. Louis doesn't give Harry's jacket back for a week afterwards. Zayn notices and raises an eyebrow at it, but says nothing, as usual. It's comfortable, Louis tells himself. It smells nice and is warm and Louis always liked his jackets a little big on him. It's not strange and it definitely isn't a sign of Louis getting attached to a certain deep-voiced, broad-shouldered photography major with a stuffed lion in his dorm room. Which, by the way, Louis called the moment he won the damn thing. Sentimental idiot…

"You kept it." Louis smirks when he notices the lion's paw peaking out from under the bed one Saturday morning after the two of them have fucked slowly, languidly. Differently than they usually do, in other words. They've never been big on morning sex—or sex in the light of day at all, really—but Louis' decided recently that he likes it. Liam has rugby club every Saturday morning, and it's less rushed that way. He's always out for at least three hours, which is more than enough time for Harry and Louis to get what they need with a cuppa tea thrown in most times, as well. Harry makes better dorm room tea than anyone Louis knows.

"Yeah." Harry says indifferently, glancing in the direction of Louis' gaze. "It does remind me of you, you know. Whenever I'm pulling an all-nighter, I look down at it, think of you, and the resulting rage fuels me for four or five hours at least. Works out well."

"Go fuck yourself, Horton." Louis laughs, looking for a t-shirt in Harry's tiny dorm room closet.

"Don't need to. That's what you're for, Lewis." Harry says, and Louis snorts in response. "Hand me my camera."

"What's the magic word?"

"Um, I'll give you a blowjob later?" Harry says.

Louis nods. "Not a word, but definitely magic." Louis grabs the camera off of Harry's desk and hands it to him before going back to rifling through the man's clothing. "Harry, why do you own so many fucking sheer blouses?" Louis says, turning to look at him.

Instead of a reply, he gets a flash of light blinding him.

"Perfect." Harry says, examining the picture he just took of Louis. "Got your cheekbones in there and your bum. Two best features."

"You think?" Louis replies. He should be mad that Harry just took an unsolicited nude photo of him, but he isn't. Harry wouldn't show it to anyone, anyway.

"Yeah, 'course. You've got loads of good features though. Probably to make up for your shit personality, innit?" Harry grins at Louis tauntingly.

"Probably." Louis agrees, shrugging. "You know, you don't have to take nudes of me, Hazza. You can have me in the flesh, so what's the use of jack off material?"

Harry looks like he's going to comment on the use of the nickname (it just slipped out, ok? Louis' heard people call Harry that and it's cute, is all) but he doesn't. "It's not 'jack off material,' Lou. It's art."

"My arse is art?" Louis says, finally settling on reclaiming the black t-shirt he gave Harry months before. "You stretched the shoulders in this shirt, Styles."

Harry shrugs at Louis' second comment, addressing the first. "You arse is only art when I'm photographing it."

"Cocky shít, aren't you?" Louis laughs, pulling on the shorts he wore over. They're his white footie shorts. Harry likes the way his bum looks in them.

"I've got the dick to match, don't I?"

"Far too confident in its own abilities? Yes, definitely." Louis says, rolling his eyes. "Where are my vans?"

"Under the bed where you kicked them when you came in. Are you leaving?" Louis nods and grabs up his jacket. "You won't have a cuppa with me? I'm good at tea. You've told me."

Louis glances at Harry. He looks needy and maybe a little bit desperate. He looks like a someone who doesn't want his boyfriend to leave him alone. Louis shouldn't indulge it, really. It's bad enough that they see each other outside of fucking and have really moved past "acquaintance" territory. Louis doesn't need a boyfriend, doesn't need Harry to see him as one, certainly. Harry's pure and ten months younger and completely unprepared to deal with Louis' shit. Louis fucks things up, is the thing. Every relationship he's ever been in has fallen apart because Louis isn't good at affection, never has been. He isn't stellar at being normal, either. Louis sighs anyway and nods. "Fine. Only because you are quite good at tea, love."  
……

Louis can feel himself getting in deeper. He feels it when Harry shows up to his championship game with a shirt with Louis' name and number on it. He feels it when Harry is the first person waiting to console him when they lose. He definitely feels it when Liam walks in on the two of them playing strip poker and, instead of being embarrassed and making excuses, they just look at each other and giggle like teenagers. But he feels it most of all when he starts being unable to keep his eyes off Harry's lips and his mind off Harry as a concept. Harry as a man, broad and soft, long-haired and green-eyed, with a laugh like an avalanche and a mind like a hurricane. Beautiful. When Harry starts bringing him coffee and a croissant every morning after his 7 am Russian Lit class, Louis knows he should say something. Should set things straight with Harry, remind him that it's about release, that it's physical. That Louis isn't the type of man that Harry needs or should even want in his life. But maybe he isn't so willing to set things straight with himself, either. Because all of this is starting to feel like something entirely different than what the two of them had three months ago. So, all things considered, it's not all that surprising when Harry calls him, drunk and crying, on a Tuesday night.

"Louis." Harry's voice comes through the phone, crackling with static and sounding like a sigh. 

"Yeah, Haz? You alright?"

"Louis, I—" Harry sounds as if he's struggling for breathe. "I'm not that sober or anything, like, I'm a little drunk maybe."

"Are you ok? Who are you with, Harry?" Louis shifts the phone to his other ear, already reaching for his jacket. "You want me to come over?"

"Want that. Want you here." Harry mumbles. 

"You're in your dorm, yeah? I'm heading over. I'll be there in a few. You'll be ok, right?" Louis pulls his jacket on and heads for the door, grabbing some aspirin on the way out as an afterthought. 

"Don't hang up, please. Don't leave me." Harry sounds like he's sobbing. Louis speeds up, nearly running by the time he's out of his own building.

"Don't worry, Hazza. I'm coming, I won't hang up. Are you alone?" Louis murmurs. He keeps his voice soft, which he doesn't do, not usually. Harry's an exception in a lot of ways.

"Yeah, 'm alone. Liam's…I don't know. He's gone. 'S just me." Harry pauses for a second.

"You there, Harry?"

"Yeah, course. Always here for you, Lou." Harry slurs before taking a shaky breath. "I want to be with you, Louis."

"I know, Harry. I'm coming. I'm almost there, ok?"

"NO!" Harry shouts into the phone. Louis winces, pulling it away from his ear. Harry is loud and drunk and Louis doesn't understand. "Sorry. I just…you don't understand me, Lou."

"What's up, love?"

"I want to be with you. Like, that way. Not just the fucking way. Not just the 'I'm staying because you make good tea' way. Not…not like that. Want everything, Lou. All of you."

Louis stops abruptly, his feet tripping up beneath him and his breath catching in his throat. "What?" He breathes out, his voice quiet and panicked because this cannot be happening. Harry doesn't understand, doesn't know what he's getting himself into. Because if Harry wants Louis, Louis will have him. Louis will have him anytime, anyway, whatever Harry wants. God, Louis wasn't going to do this. Wasn't going to fall for Harry fucking Styles. But he did, for fuck's sake. They both did, fell for each other like adolescents. But it's fine. It's still fine, will be fine, Louis tells himself, fighting to keep down the bile threatening to rise in his throat and spew across the cold sidewalk at his feet.

"You still there, Lou? Are you coming?" Harry asks quietly.

"I'm coming, love. I'm almost…almost there." Louis is running now, letting himself into Harry's dorm building quickly and running up the stairs three at a time. He doesn't have time for the elevator, not now. Not when Harry, beautiful Harry, tall and broad and soft to the touch, needs him and wants him and loves him, even. Maybe. Maybe loves him. If Louis' lucky, if what he feels and has felt for months is reciprocated (Louis hasn't admitted that to himself before. The word, love, sounds strange even when it's still inside his head).

Harry's door is open, Harry himself standing in the doorway in boxers and an unbuttoned plaid shirt. His skin is shiny with sweat and his eyes are panicked and his hair messy, quiff barely standing upright. He's gorgeous, Louis thinks. Harry's hand are at his sides, but he raises them as Louis stumbles to a halt before him, silent. And Harry takes Louis by the shoulders, gentle and firm, and pulls him against his chest, wraps his arms around Louis' thinner frame and rocks, holds on for what feels like an eternity. He smells like sweat and booze and a trace of the Tom Ford cologne he's partial to, understated after a day of it wearing off. Louis hugs him, face buried in the crook of Harry's neck, breathing him in.

They pull back finally. "I'm not…I don't think I'm drunk anymore, not really." Harry's voice is soft and hesitant. But he's right, Louis thinks. His words aren't slurred, not at all. He's sober, or at least close to it. "But I still need you with me, Lou. I always…always need you." 

Harry finishes and looks up, dark eyes of forest green meeting Louis', posing a silent question. "I'm here, Harry. Always here for you. Whenever you need me."

And Louis kisses Harry then, and it's real for the first time. It's spoken and concrete and this is a kiss with feeling behind it, passion that goes beyond the need for release and becomes a need to be loved, to be held for eternity, to be cared for and to care just as deeply. They can do it, Louis thinks. HarryandLouis. They can make it. 

 

"I think I might be in love with you." Louis breathes out as he pulls away from their kiss, arms still wrapped around Harry's waist. Harry grins down at Louis (he's so fucking tall, the bastard) and nods.

"I think I might feel the same way." Harry says giddily. He laughs as if at the novelty of it all. "I think I love you, Lou. My Louis. Little Louis. All mine, forever."

Louis laughs even though he feels like he's about to fall apart, crack under the pressure of having someone to be something to. Someone to be there for no matter what. It's a lot, is the thing. Louis' never done this without fucking it up before. "Forever's a long time, Harry."

"Not with you." Harry cups Louis' face in his hands. "I could live out forever with you and it still wouldn't be enough."

(Louis knows he'll find out that this is what Harry's like. He's a romantic, as Louis always imagined he'd be. Not that he spent too much time imagining that sort of thing. Louis isn't…he's not…anyway.)

“That’s cheesy, Harold.” Louis laughs, pulling Harry into another kiss before the other man can reply. A high pitched squeaking sort of sound rises in Louis' throat when Harry lifts him up and carries him into the dorm room, laying Louis down across Harry's bed before lowering himself onto the smaller man. Louis will deny that sound time and time again in the future when Harry teases him about it. Louis will frown and stomp his foot, saying "I did not, Harold!" And Harry will laugh and crush Louis in a bear hug, Louis' anger disappearing along with his ability to breathe or form coherent sentences. But none of that happens now. Now it's just Louis' legs wrapped around Harry's waist, his hands tugging on Harry's hair, low moans rising in each of their throats. Louis has fucked Harry before, and Harry has fucked Louis before. Countless times, and it's been good. It's been fine. But this is the very first time Harry and Louis have made love. And Louis thinks maybe, just maybe, he could get used to this.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Casual Sex by My Darkest Days, which fits the beginning of Harry and Louis' relationship in this quite well. Hope you enjoyed! Please comment whether you liked it or didn't.


End file.
